Past Presence

by Nicole Bross

  Although he’d given in, he still had mixed feelings about what they were doing. He knew some families were already doing poorly. He thought about his sister, Yulia, and his nieces and nephew. Did they have enough to eat every day? He felt ashamed that he hadn’t checked on her recently—not since her husband left the village to see if he could make it through the pass. He would make a point of asking her in church this Sunday, he decided as he pulled on his heavy boots to take the bucket of dirt outside.

  The wind slapped him in the face when he opened the door, stinging the small strip of exposed skin from his eyebrows to the middle of his nose. He trudged out to the barn, leaning into the gusts, keeping his head down. He dumped the dirt into a corner, scattered it around with his foot, and made his way back to the house.

  “Do you think it’s large enough?” Slava asked. She had climbed out of the hole and was peering over the edge. It was a good four feet deep and nearly as wide.

  “I think so,” he said after examining the space. They would know soon enough, he supposed. “Get dressed, woman,” he told Slava, who was standing by the hearth, watching him. He’d be damned if he was going to lug the food inside by himself. This was her plan. She glared at him and looked like she was about to protest, but he gave her a warning look and she began to pull on her heavy woolen sweater.

  Once all the food was stashed away, he replaced the boards over the hole and inspected the space carefully for any evidence that things were not as they seemed. Aside from some dirt around the area, which could be easily swept up, he could see nothing to give them away. All they had to do now was persuade whoever came tomorrow to collect their stores that what they’d set aside was all they had to offer.

  “Clean that all up,” he told Slava, indicating the dirt. Now that their deception was complete, he was angry—at Slava, at the village council, at the families who hadn’t put by enough to support themselves through hard times, but most especially at himself. Perhaps his feelings would change once the hunger set in, and they were able to supplement their rations, but for now, it was hard to feel any pleasure at what they’d done. Without another word, he turned his back to his wife and went to bed.

  25

  It takes a while for my hands to stop shaking as I sit behind the front desk, staring blankly out the window. I check in a honeymooning couple who don’t seem to have heard anything about Aaron’s death, and another couple who are driving down the coast for their tenth anniversary and only staying one night. Those are the only guests the inn is expecting, so I use the rest of the afternoon to finish up the bookkeeping. I’ll be able to send it all off to an accountant this week, which is a relief. I still have a ton of questions about things I can’t reconcile, particularly the credit card statements. I’ve highlighted and added up all the unexplainable charges and they amount to over twenty thousand dollars over the eight-month span, which is a significant amount of money for the inn.

  Cora’s advice to file them as a miscellaneous expense doesn’t sit right with me, and I pick up the phone to call the credit card company. Pressing four to report a fraudulent transaction gets me a customer service agent immediately, and I outline the charges I want to dispute and ask if they can clarify what they might be for.

  “It looks like they’re using a mobile payment system, one of those devices you can plug into your cell phone to take payments on the go,” the agent tells me. “They’re easy to get. All you need is a bank account. Beyond that, I don’t have any information on what sort of business it is.” I tell him I want to open an investigation and cancel the card in the meantime. He says it will take several weeks to determine whether the charges are fraud or not, but he’ll have a card with a new number issued today. It’s the best I can do for now.

  Now idle, and in a bit calmer frame of mind, I decide to read through my vision journal again to see if anything stands out or sparks a new thought. I flip back to my first entry upon arriving in Soberly and start to skim. The first two are both from Kellen, and my heart twists when I remember how I screamed at him last night. Next is Cora’s vivid vision of her past life in the Russian village, the one where her former self had almost been caught stockpiling food. I read through it carefully, looking for clues. Is the solution to the mystery in the visions from that time and place? Aaron’s death mirrored the one he suffered then, but none of the other three did.

  Bill Blackmoor’s is next, and this one corresponds to his death—still considered an accident by the police—in this time. Neither what I’ve written, nor what I remember of the vision, tells me anything new.

  I keep reading, scrutinizing every entry carefully, calling back my own memories of the visions for any details I might have left out. Some of them I barely remember having at all, others are as clear and sharp as the moment I received them.

  When I get to the one about Kellen’s Father Lvov finding his love, frozen to death under the tree, tears threaten to spill over, and I brush them hastily away so they don’t fall on the page and mar the ink. Twice now he’s lost his lover prematurely, and I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. It’s no wonder he’s so protective. He can’t help but cling tight to relationships because, on some subconscious level, he knows they could end at any moment. Now I’ve gone and done it again.

  I keep reading. There are plenty of visions from the people I know best, along with a smattering from others around town. The day I went to church fills six pages. Re-reading the entry about Sheena’s past as a budding author brings a brief smile to my face. I wonder if she’s done any more research to find the fellow.

  Next is an entry from Naomi that had unsettled me deeply when I’d received it—when she’d overdosed in her sleep from combining pills with alcohol. I remember she’d given it to me in the middle of the first shift I’d worked in the pub, during the supper rush. I hadn’t written down much about the vision—I remember I was pressed for time that evening—but I could recall all the details precisely, down to the exact wording of her conversations. I fill in the page with a few more notes and observations, now that I have the time.

  Pavel’s death, both from his own observation and from Father Lvov’s, offers me no motive or any context leading up to the fatal stabbing, much to my frustration. I feel like if I only knew more about what had happened in that moment, I could feel so much more at ease about Aaron’s murder.

  Once I reach the end, I jot down the latest vision from Cora. It’s a struggle to keep my feelings about her in this lifetime from coloring how I relate to the scene from the past. No matter what my opinion of Cora, the truth is, her past self had felt some guilt about cheating his neighbors out of food rations.

  It’s late afternoon by the time I’m finished, and I close my eyes to think for a minute, letting it all sink in. I’ve marked the four visions that resulted in a death in Soberly and re-read them, looking for a connection. Nothing stands out. I’ve scrutinized every vision for clues to indicate the person could be a killer, either in their past or in the present. The priest has been the only person who exhibited a tendency toward violence, but I know in my heart Kellen has nothing to do with any of this.

  Who did that leave? Why would anyone want these people dead? Nothing I could see connected them. Were they chosen at random? Was my hypothesis that it was somehow related to my ability correct? I still couldn’t discount it entirely, but it was a huge leap of logic.

  Opening my eyes again, I flip through all the pages I’ve marked with sticky tabs. All deaths. There are five, and only Naomi is still alive. I’m wracked with a sudden shiver as goosebumps rise all over my skin. Was Naomi in danger? All the others had died within a day or two of them giving me the vision of their past death, but Naomi’s was dated three and a half weeks ago. What made her vision different from the others?

  I pick up the phone and dial Sheena’s shop. She should still be there unless she closed early today. She picks up on the fourth ring, just when I thought she was using caller ID to screen the call because she didn’t want
to talk to me.

  “Out of the Attic Collectibles,” she says, then, “Audrey?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Listen, I think I’ve figured something out. About what’s going on.”

  “Then tell the police. They know something’s up now. Let them handle it.”

  “I can’t. They won’t believe me.” I say bitterly. My voice is shaking. I tell her about how Naomi’s past death is the only one I’ve seen that hasn’t come to pass in this time. “I’m worried she’s in danger. I want to keep an eye on her, to make sure she’s safe. I couldn’t stand it if…” my voice trails off. “Will you help me? I want to watch her house.”

  “What does Kellen say?” She’s not going to do it, I can tell by her voice.

  “I haven’t—I can’t tell him. Besides, we’re not—I broke up with him. Last night. Please, Sheena. I don’t have anyone else.”

  She sighs, and there’s a long silence while she considers. “All we’re going to do is watch the house?” she says finally.

  “Yes. If we see anything, anything at all, we’ll call the police right away, I promise.”

  “Okay.” I can tell she still has doubts, but at least she agreed to help. Naomi’s not done at the pub until nine, so we agree to meet outside her house shortly afterward. It will mean I’ll be abandoning my post at the front desk and I’ll have to hope the guests won’t need anything that can’t wait until morning. From what Jana told me when she was training me, nothing much ever happens at night unless there’s a late check-in. All the guests have a key to get into the lobby after hours, so they can come and go as they please.

  When the appointed hour comes, I duck upstairs, change into dark clothes, and lock up. It’s no more than a fifteen-minute walk to Naomi’s house. Twilight is falling—soon it will be dark, and Sheena and I can hopefully conceal ourselves somewhere in the yard where we won’t be seen, either by Naomi or the neighbors.

  Sheena’s waiting on the far corner, looking anxious. She’s dressed in black as well. Good—hopefully we can melt into the shadows.

  “Girl detectives, back on the case,” she says nervously, twisting a strand of hair around her finger repetitively.

  “Think of us more like guardian angels,” I say, hoping to reassure her. “Or bodyguards. Secret Service.”

  “We need those mirrored aviator sunglasses to be Secret Service,” she jokes.

  “I’ll get some for next time,” I promise.

  “How long are you going to do this for, anyway?” Her use of you, not we, doesn’t escape my notice. Looks like I can’t count on her help beyond tonight.

  “I…don’t know.” I know in my heart I’m going to be out here every night until the killer is caught. The thought of Naomi getting hurt terrifies me. “I’m so scared, Sheena. I can’t think of anything else to do.”

  “Can’t you tip the police off anonymously or something, without telling them about your—”

  “What would I say? The only evidence that Naomi might be in danger is because of my visions, and there’s no way the police will take me seriously.”

  Sheena sighs. “What time does Kellen get back?”

  “Probably around eleven-thirty, maybe midnight.” I ask myself whether I feel Naomi is safe once he’s home. Probably, if someone tries to break in. If Naomi is under the influence of a subconscious suggestion and tries to harm herself? He might not hear a thing from the basement, especially if she overdoses on pills. No, I’m going to need to keep an eye on the house all night.

  “Look, here she comes,” Sheena says suddenly, pointing down the street at the petite silhouette approaching. We duck out of sight behind a large oak and watch her walk up to the door and let herself in. “Now what?” she asks. “We can’t see the house from here.”

  “I know. I’m hoping we can find someplace in the garden where we can see the house, but she won’t see us.” It’s almost dark now, and we walk slowly up toward the house, trying to look casual. None of the neighbors have their porch lights on, but there’s a faint flickering behind the curtains of the bungalow across the street. Hopefully, their television is engrossing enough that they don’t notice us as we duck into Naomi’s yard, keeping close to the tall hedge rounding one corner of the property.

  “What about under there?” Sheena points to a large fir tree with drooping branches. There’s space underneath it for both of us if we crouch. The house will be visible between the boughs. Unless you were looking specifically at that spot, we should be close to invisible. Still, I hesitate because it reminds me so much of the place where Father Lvov’s young love Alexandra froze to death. Looking around the yard though, I don’t see anything that would offer us even close to the same amount of cover and security.

  “Works for me. Can you see Naomi inside?” Light is streaming from the big bay window. It doesn’t reach the tree, but we’ll have to cross it from our position near the hedge in order to get there. Sheena pokes her head out for a moment, scanning the house.

  “No,” she says finally.

  “Okay, let’s run for it.” I count to three under my breath and we scurry across the yard, crouching, and throw ourselves under the fir. We both freeze, waiting for the wailing of alarms or high-pitched screams to come from the house, but all is silent, and there is no movement inside. I breathe a sigh of relief and make a mental note to tell Kellen to install one of those motion-sensor lights on his front porch. If we could pull this kind of stunt, someone with ill intentions could too. Knowing the small-town mentality, the front door probably isn’t even locked.

  I maneuver myself into a semi-comfortable position, squatting with my back to the trunk. By peering around the branches, I can see through the living room into the kitchen via the bay window. The lights are on in both rooms. Sheena is to my left, scoping out the same view. Naomi’s bedroom, I know, is in the back of the house, along with Kellen’s brother’s for when he’s home from college. Other than that, there’s only a bathroom on the main floor—the entire house is less than a thousand square feet.

  “There she is,” I whisper unnecessarily. Naomi has appeared from the hallway, now dressed in a comfortable sweater and maxi skirt. We watch her put the kettle on to boil and take a mug down from the cupboard.

  “I feel really weird doing this,” Sheena says. “Even if it’s to protect her, it’s still spying. Should we maybe tell her we’re out here, keeping an eye on things?”

  “We can’t,” I say. “We’d have to explain everything, including why we think she’s a target.” Or why I think she might harm herself. When she goes to bed, I plan on moving into the backyard so I can watch for her light coming on in the night, in case she sleepwalks and accidentally takes a handful of pills, but I’m not telling Sheena that.

  Naomi settles down onto the living room couch with her tea and a paperback after slipping on a pair of reading glasses I never knew she needed. I agree with Sheena—it feels wrong to be peering into her home like this, watching what I’m sure she assumes is a private moment. All the same, I’m glad she hasn’t thought to pull the drapes shut.

  Nothing much happens for a long time except my knees start to ache as I alternate from squatting to kneeling in the mound of needles under the tree. Other than the occasional car driving by, the neighborhood is silent, and the sun has long gone below the horizon. Every once in a while, I see the faint glow from Sheena’s digital watch as she illuminates it to check the time. Neither of us has said anything in over an hour, and Naomi hasn’t budged from her position on the couch.

  “It’s after eleven,” Sheena says eventually. “Kellen should be home soon. Can we go after he gets here?”

  “Yeah, probably,” I reply. From the frequency she’s checking the time, it’s clear she’s close to being finished with surveillance duty, and I don’t want to push my luck by asking her to stay longer in case I need her help again. “He’ll be adequate protection if anyone tries to break in.”

  “Only he’s not coming home, at least not for a while,” says a voice
behind us, and it’s all I can do to keep from screaming in surprise as the shadow of a person emerges from alongside the hedge and crouches down outside the perimeter of the fir tree. “Hello ladies, want to join the party? Come on out now, nice and slow.” They’re speaking in a low whisper so I can’t recognize the voice, but there’s no mistaking the glint of the large gun being pointed straight at me. Maybe I should have screamed when I had the chance. I edge my way out from under the boughs, Sheena hyperventilating at my side. My heart is beating so fast I feel lightheaded, and my legs, after more than two hours being constricted under the tree, are half-asleep and tingling painfully. A booted foot prods me forward roughly. I crawl the last couple feet, hoping against hope Naomi will choose this moment to look out the window, see what’s going on in her yard, and call the police, but she doesn’t. When I glance up at the house I can see the top of her head, bent down slightly, intent on her book.

  “Get up,” the voice says. I lurch unsteadily to my feet, holding on to Sheena for balance. I’m so focused on the gun pointed in my face it takes me a moment to register the person behind it, a person who now has a manic smile on his face.

  It’s Drew.

  26

  “Up to the front door,” Drew says, motioning the way with the gun. His red headphones are around his neck, and he’s carrying a backpack. Oddly, I’m hyper-focused on the newly-shaved pattern decorating the side of his head, a chaotic mix of zigzags and shapes.

  “Kellen will be home soon,” I say. “He won’t take much longer closing up.”

  “Except he’s off looking for you,” Drew says as we walk up the steps to the door single-file, me in the lead, Sheena in the middle, and Drew behind us. “I told him you called and asked him to meet you way down the beach. Said you had some important stuff you needed to tell him.” He’s not whispering anymore, and I can hear the amusement in his voice. “Go ahead. Knock on the door.” My hand remains stubbornly by my side, still trying to protect Naomi. “Do it, or I’ll shoot her,” Drew says, prodding Sheena with the gun. She lets out a whimper, and reluctantly I rap on the door. My eyes fill with tears as I hear Naomi’s footsteps approach.